


a simple explanation for the paths that you have taken

by victoria_p (musesfool)



Category: Grayson (Comics)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-16
Updated: 2018-12-16
Packaged: 2019-09-19 21:18:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17009400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/musesfool/pseuds/victoria_p
Summary: Dick's always been good at leaving, even if he hates saying goodbye.





	a simple explanation for the paths that you have taken

**Author's Note:**

  * For [FleetSparrow](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FleetSparrow/gifts).



> Thanks to S. for looking it over! Recognizable lines come from the comic.

Dick is barefoot and bare-chested when he follows Helena out the window, so it's a good thing the night is warm and only a little muggy. There are stars overhead and the moon is full and bright as Helena leads him from building to building, her hair streaming out behind her like a flag and her teeth flashing white in a fierce smile. 

Exhilaration buoys him up as they leap from roof to roof, a pure joy in it undiluted by responsibility or the mission. For all that he's flipping through the air three stories up, he feels more grounded than he has in weeks. The fact that Helena knows him well enough to not only suggest it, but participate, should probably worry him, but it warms him instead.

She goes to ground and he catches her, tumbling them both to the grass, which is cool and tickly against his skin. 

"Gotcha," he says, before pressing a kiss to her laughing mouth.

"I let you catch me," she replies.

He shrugs a shoulder, still grinning. "If that's what you need to tell yourself."

"Grayson—Dick—" She rolls them over, her knees snug up against the outsides of his thighs. 

He tangles his fingers in her hair and pulls her down into another kiss, this one deeper, hotter, wetter. She grinds down against him and he moans into her mouth, his whole body lit with adrenaline and desire.

"This is inappropriate," she murmurs against his ear. He shivers beneath her.

"Is it?" He's never had a problem with dating his teammates. 

"Yes," she says emphatically, though it would carry more weight if she weren't warm and pliant in his arms. "No one can find out."

He laughs softly. "You keep reminding me we're spies, Helena. So it's just one more secret we have to keep."

She doesn't look convinced—he's sure he hasn't heard the last of her arguments—but she lets him kiss her again, so he doesn't worry too much about it.

*

"Mr. Malone, this is Birdwatcher. Please come in."

The line stays silent.

"Repeat, this is Birdwatcher. Mr. Malone, please respond."

Bruce doesn't answer. Dick takes his transmitter apart and puts the pieces away. 

*

The first time Dick calls home—he can picture the little frown Bruce would give him, disapproval hiding amusement—and gets no response, he figures it's just bad timing. 

The second time, he checks the news and sees that there's been a mass escape from Arkham so Bruce is probably having a rough night.

The third time, he worries. He's tempted to reach out to Alfred, to Barbara, to Tim. To someone who can tell him what's going on at home. To someone who would be happy just to hear his voice.

But they all think he's dead, and three missed calls is not enough evidence that something's wrong, not enough to break that illusion and put them all in danger. Bruce is probably just on some League operation in outer space and he wouldn't appreciate Dick endangering the mission (and himself) by breaking his silence.

Dick heads down to the gym to see if he can work out enough of his anxiety to fall asleep. He's managed to find some calm on the rings when he realizes Helena's in the doorway, watching.

He kips into an inverted handstand and holds it long enough to impress anyone else, and then dismounts with a flip. He nails the landing, of course, but she doesn't applaud.

"We've got a briefing," she says, but her gaze lingers on his shoulders as he towels off. He straightens up and doesn't stop himself from preening. He considers it a win when she lets out a sigh that sounds like a stifled laugh.

Having a mission is good. It won't leave him any time to worry.

*

Gotham is corrupt—Gotham is _filthy_ , and quite literally insane sometimes, and yet sometimes Dick feels like he'll never wash clean of the work he's doing for Spyral. He's not sleeping well, he still can't reach Bruce, and he's afraid that if he stays here too long, he'll start to lose himself. 

When they let him out of the infirmary after his week in the desert, he takes a shower so long and hot he thinks he might melt. He thinks he might want to. He stays under the hot spray until his skin is red and wrinkly, and when he sits down on the edge of his bed, he feels like the weight of the world is on his shoulders. He did the right thing, and he knows it, even if no one else will admit it.

He scrubs his hair dry with a towel, too tired to bother with the hair dryer, and pulls on his boxers. He's getting ready to climb into bed when there's a knock at the door.

"Dick?"

He opens the door to find Helena leaning against the doorjamb. "Should you be up?"

She huffs dismissively. "I'm fine."

"Do you want to come in?" He grimaces at the unmade bed covered in dirty laundry and the wet towels on the floor—Alfred would have something to say about his housekeeping—but ushers her in anyway.

He wants to ask for reassurance—that she'd have done the same, that she understood why he'd left her behind, why he'd had to keep going—but he swallows down the words. She's not Batman and he's not Robin anymore. He knows he did the right thing, and he'd rather not know that she wouldn't have. She covered for him, and right now, that has to be enough.

"Hey," he says instead, shoving his clothes off the end of the bed. 

Helena's never hesitated, not once in the time he's known her, and she doesn't now, either, but there's a deliberateness to the way she steps into his space that reads as bravery, though he has no idea what she's afraid of, that she's afraid of anything at all.

She cups his cheek, calluses on her fingers snagging in his stubble, and tips his face down into a kiss. He lets himself fall into her, the two of them finding a soft landing on the bed. She pushes him back against the pillows, her mouth hot and insistent against his and her hands raising goosebumps as they skim along his chest and shoulders. He moans low into her mouth and she hums happily in response.

They split apart long enough for her strip off her t-shirt and yoga pants; she drops them to the floor, on top of his clothes, and then he can't pay attention to anything but the warm expanse of her skin sliding against his as she moves above him. For a moment, he's mesmerized by the sight of her, the tilt of her earrings, the sway of her breasts.

Then she guides him inside the wet heat of her cunt and he can't concentrate on anything but the way she feels, slick and silky, around him. Her eyes flutter closed, a soft gasp escaping her lips, and her fingers tighten on his shoulders as she starts to pick up her pace.

He's happy to let her take the lead, take whatever it is she needs from him—times like these, he's just happy to be along for the ride. He clutches her hips and thrusts up as she grinds down, the two of them in sync here the way they should be in the field but frequently aren't.

She leans down to kiss him again, gasping against his mouth, his name a soft exhale he breathes in. He slides his fingers over the curve of her hip, down between her legs, to rub at her clit. She bites his lower lip and edging his pleasure with the slightest touch of pain, and he moans again, his whole body on fire with need and desire. 

She's close—he can tell by the way her rhythm falters and then speeds up, the long muscles of her thighs tightening in anticipation. Her fingernails dig into his neck as she comes, clenching tight around him and pulling him along with her. The world goes white behind his eyes and pleasure floods through him like a tidal wave. He spills himself deep inside her with a moan she licks off his tongue.

They lie there for a few minutes, just breathing together, the air heavy with the scent of sex, and then she pushes her way out of his arms.

"Helena—"

"I need to clean up."

"Yeah, okay." He enjoys watching her bend over to pick up her clothes before she disappears into the bathroom. She's fully dressed when she comes out. Dick wishes she would stay but he knows she won't, so he doesn't ask. Instead, he says, "What do you know that I don't know?"

Helena gives him a _look_ that says more clearly than words that there is a whole _universe_ of things she knows that he doesn't, and he laughs softly. "Okay, what is it that you know _right now_?"

"I'll tell you in the morning. We have a briefing, first thing." She gives him a warm smile that seems a little sad for a woman who just had sex with him. "Sleep well, Dick. Sweet dreams."

"You too, Helena."

And for the first time in a while, he does.

*

"I'm not playing. Not anymore."

"Dick…" There's a pleading note in Helena's voice that surprises him, but he doesn't change his mind.

"I'm done."

Dick storms out of Helena's office and she follows. He'd hoped she would but hadn't wanted to assume. He's good at reading people and he knows her feelings for him are deeper than she'd like them to be, but she's so good at pushing them aside for the sake of Spyral. For the sake of the mission. He tries not to think about how much like Bruce she is sometimes. He doesn't always manage it, especially now, when his worry about Bruce is uppermost in his mind.

He makes it to his room and she joins him, shutting the door firmly and leaning against it.

"Dick…"

He shakes his head. "Helena, I—" As much as he'd like to tell her the whole truth, he can't. She might argue that that makes him just as bad as the rest of them, but he's not. He owes his family—he owes _Bruce_ —an allegiance above and beyond anything he's ever owed Spyral. What he owes Helena is less clear. 

He turns to face her. "How do you deal with it? Don't you miss your family?"

Her mouth does something complicated that is almost, but not quite, a smile. "Given that most of my family are bloodthirsty mobsters who want me dead, no, not as such."

"Every family's got a few of those," Dick replies, thinking of Jason, and how much better he'd been lately. Worrying about how Damian's handling his absence. He'd made so much progress as Dick's Robin. Dick wonders how he's dealing with everything—Bruce was never one to initiate heart-to-hearts, even before Jason's death hardened him, and Damian is too prickly to open up on his own. Dick hopes Alfred doesn't have to deal with the two of them on his own, that Tim and Babs aren't working themselves to the bone and forgetting to live their lives outside their uniforms.

Helena makes a motion that's half nod, half shrug. "Perhaps. Mine more than most." Then all humor vanishes from her expression. "Are you truly leaving?"

"I have to. For so many reasons."

"Family?" she says with a slight curl of her lip. 

He squares his shoulders at the implication. "That's one, yes."

"And no reasons to stay?"

Dick freezes, just for a moment, surprised. "I—You know there are. But—"

"Family comes first," she says acidly. "I'm familiar with the concept."

Family. Mission. Gotham. His own mental health. Dick gives himself an internal shake. "Helena—"

She steps into his space, grabs his shirt, and pulls him into a kiss. It's sweet and hot and full of promises neither of them can keep. Dick knows a farewell when he sees one. He's always been good at leaving, even if he hates saying goodbye.

"Take care of yourself," she says.

"You too," he replies, but she's already closed the door behind her.

* 

Of all the things Helena did for him, and there were many, Dick thinks that the one he never thanked her for—the one he _couldn't_ thank her for—was letting him go. After they defeated Daedalus and took down Spyral, he'd thought, he'd even hoped, that she might come back to Gotham with him. Bertinelli was a name to be feared, yes, but it wasn't all she was, and Gotham, for all its history and horror, had a way of wearing the edges off the past, so people could live with it, and maybe even plan a future.

But Helena had had other work to do, and so had he, and they'd gone their separate ways. But now, he looks at the contacts in his phone, and her name jumps out at him. 

"Got yourself in some trouble, Agent 37?" she says, a teasing lilt in her voice. She sounds happy to hear from him.

"Something like that." He settles back in his chair, relaxing now that he knows he's made the right call. "How do you feel about taking down an ancient organization of murderers from the inside?"

There's a long pause, and he can imagine her expression, surprise giving way to intrigue. Then she says, "Good. I feel good about that." She laughs. "Oh, Dick, you sure know how to pique a girl's interest."

"See, Matron? You might know a lot of things I don't, but I know _you_." 

"I can be in Gotham tomorrow afternoon." Another pause, and then, "My flight gets in at three."

"I'll be there." He lets his voice go soft. "I've missed you."

"I've missed you too." She hangs up before he can say anything else.

Dick grins down at his phone. He may not know everything Helena knows—he never will—but what he does know is this: the best thing about having to say goodbye is that sometimes, you get to say hello again.

end

**Author's Note:**

> The title is from "Tear It All Down" by Thea Gilmore.


End file.
